On the Trail. . .Look Out!

The upper reaches of the Northern Cascades.

Running high across the upper reaches of the North Cascades, I’m about to pull one of my favorite, albeit most stupid, jokes in the whole trail-running universe. My friend Rick and I are running—speed-hiking when the steep grade requires—the Hidden Lake trail about 80 miles northeast of Seattle. Our destination is the Hidden Lake lookout, a retired fire observation station that’s maintained by a local hiking club.

It’s basically a 10-by-10 foot wood box at the summit of a near-7,000-foot peak and boasts 360-degree views that stretch deep into British Columbia in one direction and to Mount Rainier, more than 120 miles away, in another. Because you’re allowed inside—you can even stay overnight for free if you want—the lookout makes for a great trail-running destination.

Rick and I have run about 3 1/2 miles, climbed a couple thousand feet through forest and alpine meadow, when the lookout first comes into view, still a couple hundred feet above us. Luckily (for me) I spot it before Rick.

"Look out!" I yell, as if he were about to become prey for a low-flying pterodactyl. I’m hoping he’ll be so startled that he’ll let out a kind of high-pitched squeal, thus giving me something to torment him with the rest of the run.

"Oh yeah, there it is," he says, looking up briefly.

So much for humor.

Fifteen minutes later, after a couple-hundred-yard scramble that required our hands as well as our feet, Rick and I are inside the lookout, sipping water, bedazzled by mountain views that stretch to infinity. Countless craggy peaks, icy glaciers and evergreen river valleys surround us on all sides. We count four frosty-white stratovolcanoes over two-miles high: Mounts Baker, Rainier, Adams and Glacier Peak. We see much of northern Puget Sound too. With such far-reaching views, we understand why this was the perfect place to watch for fires.

Built in 1931, this lookout was manned by a ranger until the late 1950’s when aerial fire patrols made most fire lookout towers across the country obsolete. Most were dismantled or simply abandoned but, some, like this one, were saved by local organizations. For more than 40 years, the Friends of the Hidden Lake Lookout have been repainting, repairing and doing whatever’s necessary to keep this room with a view in great shape.

Inside, it’s stocked with a full-size cot, blankets, dishes, propane stove, pots, pans, maps and more. The bookshelf is stuffed with paperback bestsellers and mountain guidebooks, as well as one title that catches my eye: The Madams of San Francisco, by Curt Gentry. Something to curl up with on a lonely night in the mountains, I suppose.

This particular lookout is only 4 1/2 miles from the trailhead (a nine mile round trip run) so there’s really no need to stay overnight. But it’s cool to know that if we wanted, we could run up here during some late afternoon, watch the sun set over Puget Sound and drop into the Olympic Mountains, and after a good night’s sleep, watch it rise again over the North Cascades. And because there’s so much already here, we wouldn’t have to carry much extra gear.

"It’d be pretty freaky to be in here during a storm," Rick says, touching the glass in the windows.

I bet. In eastern Washington, on the dry side of the Cascades, I once ran to the Goat Peak Lookout, one of the few active today. The fire ranger there, Bill Austin, a.k.a. Lightning Bill, spends six months each year scouring the surrounding hills for smoke and says his tower’s been struck by lighting countless times.

"When this place gets hit, it’s like being inside a light bulb," he says. "The glass rattles, the walls shake; it’s pretty exciting."

Looking Out Across the Country

While not exactly a trend sweeping the nation, running to fire lookouts is something enjoyed not only by Northwest runners. In upper New York State, Heidi Underwood runs to lookouts on Hadley Mountain and Black Mountain (elev. 2,700 feet for each), near Lake George.

"The views at the top are incredible," she says. "From Black Mountain, all of the Adirondack Mountains are visible as well as portions of the 33-mile lake [George]."

In Southern California, Ken Bonus runs to an abandoned lookout at 5,400 feet on Palomar Mountain near San Diego. It’s about a 22-mile roundtrip run.

"It’s spectacular! On a clear day, you can see all the way to the ocean," Bonus says.

And along with the half-dozen or so I’ve run to in Washington State, I’ve also run to lookouts in New Jersey including a 100-foot-tall tower in the Pine Barrens. From the top, the scrubby forest seemed to have no end.

To find out if there are lookouts in your area, the National Historic Lookout Register website lists more than 400 fire lookouts across the U.S., and, along with photos of most of them, includes links to topographic maps of the surrounding area.

Not known for being a trail runner (he wrote a book called On the Road after all) Jack Kerouac spent a summer as a fire ranger in a lookout on Washington’s Desolation Peak—hence his book, Desolation Angels. Talk about desolation, even today, to get to this active lookout just six miles south of the British Columbia border, you’d have to run 23 miles (one-way) through alpine wilderness with some 4,500 feet elevation gain over the last five miles.

Another Beat author, Gary Snyder, spent a summer at the nearby, and also in use, Sourdough Mountain Lookout. I’ve also run to that site, though I admit its 5,100 feet elevation gain over five miles (one-way) turned much of it into a speed hike.

A few weeks after our Hidden Lake Lookout run, Rick and I are joined by a few friends on a run to the Park Butte Lookout, about 20 miles west of Hidden Lake. While the former starred a cast of a thousand peaks, this one is basically a one-mountain show. But what a mountain! Bolted to a rocky outcrop (elev. 5,400 feet) at the foot of Mount Baker (10,778 feet), the locally maintained lookout boasts front-row views not only of the mountain but of Railroad Grade, a giant trough the Easton Glacier is digging as it slowly recedes up the mountain.

It’s a short trail (3.5 miles one-way), so we add about six rugged, alpine miles by running the adjacent Scott Paul loop first. After dropping down into, then out of the Railroad Grade moraine, we take a break so that everyone can catch up to one another.

I’m taking a sip from my water bottle when Rick yells "Look out!"

Not only do I let out a high-pitched squeal, but I also drop my water bottle and it tumbles about 20 yards down into the moraine. When he’s finally able to stand upright—he and everyone else is doubled over laughing for at least five minutes—he points to the lookout which is just now visible on the next ridge.